Shadow Stalker
by Her Winter Requiem
Summary: NWN2, OC, with a lot of AU scattered everywhere. Casavir has disappeared, and in his place is a presence that could only mean trouble for the rest of the party.
1. A Disturbing Affliction

**Author's Ramblings:** _Okay, the events of this story really_ did_ happen to me. I loaded up the file with my druid to go play, but once everything finished loading, I noticed something rather peculiar: Casavir was gone, and in his place was an icon that looked like a departing shadowed figure. I figured it was a minor glitch that would go away once I went to another area, but it didn't. So I went to the Flagon to check if he was there. He wasn't. Creepy, no?__  
I hope he's there once I load that file again, but for now I'm attempting to turn fear into creativity with this story inspired by that happening.  
As always, I do not own anything but Hariele and the strange presence._

--

Hariele shifted uncomfortably, drawing her Watchman's cloak tighter around herself. Hugging her knees against her chest, she shoved a lock of hair away from her forehead, trembling. The Flagon was particularly icy this night, though no one else seemed to be bothered by it. In fact, the sounds of laughter and conversation were even louder and merrier than usual. She pressed her palms to her ears, moaning lightly and wishing it would all just go away.

Perhaps it was stress that was making everything go wrong tonight. Being accused of slaughtering an entire village and having to become a knight in the service of a city you didn't really care for took a toll on one's health. Add to that the pain of doing Captain Brelaina's work for the City Watch, one after another, all to enter the Blacklake district... didn't they have any _other_ Watchmen who could do the job?

It wasn't just the chill in the air and the general feeling of malaise, either. There was a growing fear looming over her, clawing at her nerves and stability. It was largely paranoia, and every so often she'd glance around the room to check if anyone was watching her, only to duck away from the harsh firelight once again. But not even _Bishop_ was keeping an eye on her this time, and that was saying something...

"Hariele?"

She looked up abruptly, startled, and was met with the gentle face of Shandra Jerro. The woman wore an expression of obvious concern, almost motherly. "Are you feeling all right?"

Hariele blinked feebly, wearily shaking her head. Her forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat, and her breathing had grown shallow and irregular. It was like trying to breathe _soup,_ the air was so thick...

"Okay," Shandra said, turning away and surveying the common room, "just hold on, and I'll go get... Casavir?"

Confused, Hariele stared up at Shandra. "Why the hesitation?" she mumbled.

"I... I thought Casavir could help with this kind of thing, but..." Shandra ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip. "...Hariele, Casavir's gone."

"Then... bring Elanee over here." She arched an eyebrow in an irritated fashion, feeling quite impatient.

"All right." Shandra left for a few moments, and Hariele tucked her head beneath her arms once more, not looking up until she heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

"You are correct, Shandra... there is definitely something unsettling in the air about her." Elanee stooped down and brushed a hand across Hariele's forehead. "We ought to get her to her room."

"I don't think she can walk like this," Shandra cautioned.

Hariele was just about to protest before she was scooped up by someone who was definitely _not_ Shandra or Elanee. Bishop smirked down at her, one hand of his supporting her shoulders, the other arm under her knees. She scowled at him as Shandra and Elanee exchanged weary glances.

"Put me dowwwnnnn," she whined as he fished her room key out of the pocket where she always kept it. "I can walk for myself."

"Not like this, you can't," he stated nonchalantly, turning the key in the lock. "Besides, do you think I'd pass up a chance like this? You, Hariele Arna, supposed butcher of Ember, weak and defenseless?"

The door swung open, and Hariele growled at him. "If you don't put me down, I am going to be sick _all over you._"

He snorted with derision, dumping her on the bed and smirking when she shrieked. Striding out of the room, he slapped the key into Shandra's palm before heading out to the common room.


	2. The City of Wreven

**Author's Ramblings:** _Damn. Casavir is still gone. What's worse is, his absence is screwing up the Rite of Tyr, and I don't have a save file for that game before he went poof. I was really enjoying playing a druid, too :(  
__Anyhow, here's where the story really gets AU. No, this is not the Shadow Plane, though future events may lead you to think that it is. Just remember - it isn't. :P  
I still own nothing but Hariele, the strange presence, the little girl, and the freaky alternate universe._

--

_**Casavir**_

This place was _not_ Neverwinter.

The paladin stood outside the dark wrought-iron gates to the foreign city, sickly-looking tendrils of ivy coiled around the guard towers. He could hear the ominous cries of ravens and crows, perched in the twisted, dead trees above, hidden in the depths of the inky black sky. The sign that was a few feet away was nigh unreadable, and he was sure it had been cleaved in two by some weapon and hastily repaired sometime in the past. Stepping forward, he frowned as he brushed away some of the dirt and muck.

_Proud City of Wreven, Diamond Among Coals__  
Population: fluctuates daily  
Ruler: they come and go_

Those last two parts looked to have been crudely scratched in by a blade, as opposed to the once-bright paint of the first line. Perhaps the deed had been done by someone who had sought to mock the city - or maybe it was actually true.

Casavir sighed, looking towards the open gates once again. He caught the glittering eye of a guard, who sneered at him. "'Eyyy, _paladin._ Don't see many o' yer kind in Wreven, do we?" She spat at his feet and rapped her wood staff on the ground. "To 'ell with th' lot o' ye."

"Aye," remarked the other guard, leaning back against an ivy-choked tower. "Enter Wreven if ye wish, we en't stoppin' ye. But no _holy_ business while yer 'ere, aye?"

Casavir blinked, dumbfounded. People usually were happy to see a paladin around... except Bishop, but, well... he was _Bishop._ And no one had ever demanded that he stop his "holy business," except, again, Bishop.

Sighing, he hesitantly walked past the iron gates, feeling the four eyes of the two guards on him with every step.

-x-

Wildly barking dogs flew past him, chasing their prey to feed their malnourished selves. The only light was from the flickering silver street lamps, which on closer inspection held weeping white pixies inside. Merchants and customers were pulling daggers on each other, arguing loudly over prices and qualities. There didn't seem to be any order in this city, and certainly no justice.

From somewhere farther off, he heard the sound of mournful tears and wailing. Concerned, he followed the sound a few feet before he came to a large stone fountain. He wasn't sure what it had once been carved to resemble, because the head had been severed, and every inch of it was dry and dusty. Sitting on the edge was a young girl, her black hair hanging in front of her face like a veil. Her head was buried in her hands as she sobbed loudly, soaking her ragged sleeves. In front of her lay a snowy white squirrel, fur infested with fleas. Its single glassy red eye was open and lifeless, and its arms reached towards the sky.

Taking pity on the poor girl, Casavir seated himself next to her and gently laid a hand upon her back. She jumped, staring up at him with wide black eyes. Her mouth dropped open slightly, and she seemed to forget her tears as she asked, in awe, "Are you a _paladin?_"

"I am," he nodded, a slight smile appearing on his face.

"T-they told me people like you only existed... in dumb stories..." Swiping at her eyes to clear away the tears, she continued. "But... you must be a paladin, because I feel so safe here... I never feel safe, and that's what paladins do..."

She stared at the ground a few moments, sighing pleasantly, before she was struck by some sort of sudden realization. "Mister paladin? Are you here to heal me?"

"Heal you?" he asked, puzzled. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with her. "Why would you need healing?"

She blinked, turning towards the dead squirrel. "Well... you see... this squirrel, it was being chased by some mean kids, and I caught it here... to keep it safe, and then..." Her voice started to shiver and break. "...and then it... it died, just like that, in my hands..."

She swallowed hard, trying to contain the inevitable flood of tears. "It's happened before... a lot, mister paladin... everyone else says it's a... curse..."

Quivering, she flung herself into his arms, weeping terribly as he tried to comfort her. Quietly, he searched her spirit and soul for any sign of a curse or affliction - there was nothing he could heal her of. Sighing as her sobs gradually subsided, he brushed a finger across her cheek, looking into her glimmering black eyes. This child was not cursed - just unfortunate, unfortunate to have been born in a world such as this. Wherever this was, it was not the Material Plane...

"Can you heal me?" she whispered shakily, clasping her hands in a gesture of supplication.

He closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head. "I cannot, child. I am sorry."

"I... but... why? Why not?!" Her eyes were wide with confusion and obvious disappointment, blinking rapidly as her hands fell to her sides. "Paladins... heal curses... right?"

"It is not a curse," he stated grimly. "I suspect it is what comes of being born on this plane... the other folk seem to be in situations similar to yours."

"Plane? Wh... what do you mean?" She put a finger to her mouth and chewed on the nail, something Casavir had done when he was a child. "It isn't a curse?"

"No," he said. "Though it may as well be," he added under his breath.

"So I'm going to be stuck like this forever?"

"I am afraid so."

"But that isn't _fair!_" she shrieked, causing several heads to turn in their direction. "I don't... want to be like this, mister paladin..."

"I know." If there was anything Casavir knew, it was that people often had things they despised about themselves, things they regretted doing... himself included. "You will find some way to cope, child... and I shall help you."

"R-really?" Her jaw dropped again. "You would do that? T-thank you, mister paladin... thank you!"

There was no reason why he couldn't help her... it was likely that he would be spending quite some time in this unfamiliar place, and she seemed like a well-meaning child. He smiled, trying to seem reassuring. "You are welcome. And... my name is Casavir."

"Caaa-saaaa-viiirrrrr." She ran through the name several times, trying to get hold of the proununciation. "Casavir. Got it." She beamed at him. "And my name's Annalee, all right?"

He nodded. "Well, Annalee, I must admit that I have never been to this city before. Could you guide me?"

"Sure!" She grinned, standing up as he took her tiny hand in his. "I know this city like... like... something I know really well, okay?"

He had to smile at her attempted simile, and they both set off to explore the city of Wreven.


	3. Face to Face

_**Elanee and Shandra**_

Barely contained in a restless sleep, Hariele continued to toss and turn, shivering violently. Elanee sat at her bedside, puzzled. She'd tried so many of the druidic remedies she knew for any sickness remotely like this - none of them had worked at all. Furrowing her brow in worry, Elanee admitted defeat when the door opened.

"It is beyond my power," Elanee said, turning to Shandra in anticipation of good news. "Did you find the paladin?"

"No," Shandra sighed. "I looked all around the Docks and the Merchant Quarter - Casavir's gone. He could be somewhere else... but I don't think he would just leave."  
"Indeed." Elanee shook her head gravely. "I fear for our leader. She has only worsened in the past few hours, and I have no idea of what caused this affliction or how to cure it."

"Well, we've got to try," Shandra declared. "Let's go see if Sand knows anything."

-x-

_**Hariele**_

A shadow skated along the wall, though nothing else moved. It slid across the floor like a snake, settling on the bedspread. The shadow stretched and contracted, and seemed to form into something tangible, something _alive._

"Wake up."

Hariele's eyes snapped open, wide and alert with paranoia. She was staring into the face of an unfamiliar man, perched at the foot of her bed. He was undoubtedly a drow - black skin, long white hair, sinister red eyes. A sardonic smirk played upon his thin lips, filling her with a sense of dread.

"What are you?" she asked weakly, feeling that "_What_ are you?" would have been a much better question.

He tilted his head, shrugging. "You know me. Don't you recognize me? I remember you."

"No..." Hariele squinted at him, feeling suddenly breathless. He did seem familiar in some way - like she'd caught a glimpse of him during her days in West Harbor. As if she'd seen him in a dream. An echo of a memory.

The drow reached out to brush her cheek with one dark finger. She shuddered, fighting the abrupt urge to vomit or faint. "I was wrong," he whispered. "You can't be. You're merely a warped reflection. You couldn't be her."

"Don't... don't touch me," she moaned, reaching up to try and push him away. He pushed back, sending another wave of weakness and nausea through her. Hariele cried out in agony, cut short by a fit of retching.

Behind the door, there was the sound of shuffling feet, followed by creaking hinges. The drow gave one last sneer, then dissolved into a pool of shadow. It skittered behind the nightstand, unnoticed as two people burst into the room.

"Hariele?! What happened?" Shandra rushed to Hariele's bedside, closely tailed by Elanee.

Tears stung Hariele's eyes as she whimpered, a hand clamped over her mouth. She wasn't even sure he'd been real...


	4. Meet the Party

**Author's Easter Egg:** _Spell 'Wreven' backwards. ;)_

_**Casavir**_

For the past few hours, Annalee had excitedly bounded around the city, pointing out locations and rattling off short, quirky descriptions for each of them. She seemed to appreciate Wreven more than Casavir could ever hope to - after all, it was safe to assume she had never walked other streets. Perhaps, like many small children Casavir had met, she was blind to the bitter tragedy of her world.

He wondered if Annalee had any commitments or responsibilities - did she just wander around the city all day? Did she have a place to call home, with a family?

"Annalee," he asked, "does your mother know where you are?"

"Oh, no," she said, grinning. "You're really strange, mister Casavir... Mama doesn't care where I go. Not since she left."

_Left? Does she mean "died" or something else entirely?_

Noticing his confusion, she added, "Everyone leaves sometimes. Mama left soon as I could walk, I think. Just packed her bags and walked out the door."

Casavir stared down at her, stunned. "And she didn't take you with her?"

"Of course not!" Annalee smiled. "Mister Casavir, wherever you're from must be a pretty weird place."

He blinked in disbelief. She was a child no more than seven summers old, without a mother - and presumably not a father - and her only care in the world was her curse. Was the concept of having parents so alien to her?

"Where do you live?" Surely, to have survived for very long, Annalee would need a sort of refuge - away from the crime and debauchery.

She shrugged. "Don't really live anywhere... though I _do_ stay at the Flighty Sparrow sometimes. The innkeeper's real nice." Pointing forwards, she turned to Casavir and said, "We can go there next."

"Lead the way."

-x-

The moment Casavir pulled open the tavern door, Annalee went rushing in, squealing excitedly. What few patrons there were didn't seem to have any problem with it at all, and some had surprisingly warm greetings for her. He entered cautiously, shutting the door behind him with a loud squeak.

"If it isn't little Annalee!" the presumed innkeeper cried, stooping down to ruffle her hair affectionately. "What can I do for you today?"

"Everybody, this is Casavir," Annalee announced. Casavir shifted uncomfortably as he felt everyone's gaze directed towards him. "He's a paladin."

"A paladin? Really?" The silver-haired woman in the corner stared in awe, stepping forward to get a closer look. "I always said we needed more paladins in Wreven."

"No one cares what you said," rumbled the gray dwarf standing next to her. She shot him an angry scowl, folding her arms.

"I say paladins are nothing but trouble," interjected the elven sorcerer.

The wizard flicked a conjured piece of ice at the elf, leaning back in her seat. "I say we give him a chance," she said coolly.

As the sorcerer attempted to haphazardly defend his opinion, Casavir realized that this scene was all too familiar. It was vaguely reminiscent of everything he'd experienced in the past few weeks - he just had to look around, and all the pieces were there. The insults, the fights, the pairs who always argued... there was just one part of it missing.

Just then, a spellcaster of some sort strolled into the common room, shaking her hair out of her eyes. "Are you all fighting over some petty matter _again?_ Come now."

Casavir's jaw dropped. It was a band of adventuring misfits who all stayed at a tavern, apparently led by a mage - it couldn't have been a coincidence. As he sank deeper into contemplation, Annalee tugged on his arm.

"Mister Casavir? You okay?"

He snapped out of his thoughts, trying to clear his head of the confusion. "I... yes, Annalee. I'm fine. Perhaps you could tell me about your friends?"

"They're not all my friends," Annalee shrugged. "Just some adventurer people I know. Who'd you want to know about?"

"Her," he said, pointing towards the mage who'd just entered. This could confirm it - if she was anything like Hariele, it could prove it wasn't a coincidence.

"Oh, that's Taimra," Annalee said, seeming to brighten. "She's nice... keeps the adventurer people in line. She just saved the nearby village, Nerinia's Wave... 'course, there are these nasty people who keep saying she didn't do it, but I believe her.

"Also, she says there's something gold inside her, I think. I don't really know, 'cause I didn't hear that part so good."

Casavir racked his brain for answers, trying to piece together this impossible puzzle. Was this a distorted reflection of the Material Plane? Some kind of... parallel universe? Everything was so similar, and yet so different at the same time - how could it be?

"Well, if you don't mind," said Taimra, cutting into Casavir's pondering, "I'm going back to bed... no more fighting, you hear?"

"It's awfully early in the day for you to be sleeping," said the innkeeper, raising an eyebrow. "You're sure you're fine?"

"Absolutely." Taimra nodded. "I'm just... tired." She flicked her hair over her shoulder, swaying slightly as she turned.

"You _must_ be tired," observed the silver-haired woman. "You can barely stand."

Taimra was about to reply before she stumbled suddenly, crashing into the wall and falling in a crumpled heap. Casavir immediately rushed to her aid, offering an arm to help her up.

She reached for his outstretched hand, but her helpless expression quickly turned to alarm as she looked him in the eyes. Withdrawing her hand in fear, Taimra recoiled from his presence, hopelessly muttering a protective spell. In the middle of the incantation, she abruptly halted, coughing harshly as she tried to back away.

As her companions murmured in concern or indifference, Casavir stared incredulously, wondering why Taimra was so afraid, and what had happened to her.


	5. Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

_**Bishop**_

As reluctant as they rightfully were, Shandra and Elanee had ordered Bishop to "stand guard" outside Hariele's room while they chased wild geese. Duncan had backed it up with a poorly-worded threat of blackmail and old debts (hadn't he repaid every favor? It was hard to keep track). It seemed, quite frankly, stupid - why didn't they ask the dwarf, or the pyromanical sorceress instead? Both probably would have been more willing, and more effective.

Then again, Khelgar would no doubt drink on the job, and Qara would probably fireball anyone who came within fifty yards. Inefficient.

They could have asked the paladin to do it, but he was missing. Bishop really couldn't fathom why - Casavir was the most unlikely of the group to disappear right when he was needed.

Not that he particularly cared - it would normally have been a cause for celebration, had there not been things going on with Ember and Hariele.

Bishop stole a glance into Hariele's room, then went back to leaning carelessly against the wall - and then immediately looked back, because the girl wasn't asleep like she should have been. Hariele was sitting up in bed, looking dazed and astonished at the same time. She blinked once, and Bishop realized that she was looking at _him._

"...Bevil?"

_What?!_

Bishop stared back at her, incredulous. After a moment, though, he remembered that Shandra had said something about Hariele having hallucinations - scary drow men in chainmail, that sort of thing.

"Bevil, is it really you?" She had her hands raised in some sort of pleading, hopeful gesture, lips slightly parted in awe.

Thinking for a moment, Bishop decided that it was completely possible to satisfy Hariele's curiosity by playing along. "Uh... yes?"

_Who is this Bevil person, anyway? Probably someone from that backwards village she came from._

She smiled almost instantly, though it seemed delirious and hazy. "How did you get here? Did you walk, or take a ship, or... please, come here."

Shrugging, he walked in, seating himself next to her on the bed. Hariele's green eyes were unusually bright, and the tattoos around them were shining with sweat - whatever she had was hitting her hard. Still, she grinned without faltering; clearly this Bevil person was somebody important.

She squinted at him curiously, looking confused. "You seem... different... I don't know." Shaking her head, Hariele curled her fingers around his wrist. "...It doesn't matter. What matters is that you somehow managed to make it here."

Bishop arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to one side. Those were pretty powerful hallucinations; Hariele usually wouldn't have touched him with a ten-foot pole. _Although,_ he reminded himself, _I'm not Bishop right now. I'm Bevil._

Come to think of it, what in the world was Bevil like? The facade probably wouldn't last long if Bishop kept acting like Bishop. Attempting to come up with a few possibilities, his train of thought came to a screeching halt as Hariele pushed herself into his lap.

"Does Daeghun know you're here?" she asked, apparently unaware of his surprise.

Who was Daeghun? The name sounded a bit familiar... oh, yes, he was Duncan's half-brother. Bishop nodded slowly. "Yes..." _I think._

She seemed satisfied with this answer. "It must have been hard to convince him... I know he didn't want you to come with me. Mmh... how's the family? Who's helping Retta now?"

Bishop tensed. He couldn't possibly answer that question, not knowing Bevil's family let alone who Retta was. Gritting his teeth, he tried to dodge it. "Why do you want to know all this?"

It must have come off harsher than he intended, because Hariele blinked up at him, looking slightly hurt. "Because I... because I miss West Harbor."

Bishop tried to slap together a meaningful-sounding apology, pausing when Hariele shook her head again. "But," she said, taking on the appearance of a lovestruck doe, "I just realized that... I missed you more."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, resting her head on Bishop's shoulder. "I can't think clearly right now... I'm lucky to be awake..."

"I, uh, heard about that," Bishop said, tentatively snaking an arm around her shoulders. "There, there, I'm sure it's... going to be okay..."

He could have gagged on the words coming out of his mouth.

"I believe you," she whispered. "But, Bevil, I'm tired... and please be here when I wake up..."

Hariele was out like a candle in a thunderstorm, which was unusual, at least for an insomniac like her. Bishop was trying to analyze what he'd just gleaned from the conversation, wondering if any of it was remotely useful. He was so caught up in his thoughts - and Hariele - that he didn't notice the footsteps coming down the hall.

He did, however, hear the sharp squeaking noise, and as he looked up, he froze in terror.

Elanee was standing in the doorway, hand clapped over her mouth, with Shandra behind her, looking equally shocked.

Sand blinked twice, muttered "Well, then" and slipped away.

Shandra looked about ready to tear his head off, and Bishop fully believed that he was going to scream horribly in about five seconds.


	6. Shadows and Close Calls

**Author's Somewhat Brief Note:** _New character, whoo :) The drow now gets a chapter all to himself... well, not _all_ to himself...  
Translations of Drow dialogue are at the bottom._

--

_**Vilithril**_

He lay quivering underneath the sorceress's bed, pressed flat against the hardwood floor. Impatient as he was, Vilithril had to wait until it was safe to leave - unfortunately, due to his dulled senses as a shadow, it would be difficult to make sure. He could hear soft voices from just up above, but couldn't make out what they said.

Just then, he felt a slight shaking underneath him; someone was entering the room, and they didn't seem happy about something. Vilithril felt their footsteps resonating through the floor and could faintly hear their voice, which got louder with every word.

"...never thought you'd sink this low, Bishop, taking advantage of her while she's..."

The voice was strong, female, and very, _very _angry. A smaller voice spoke up, shouting something incoherent. A moment later, something exploded, and Vilithril had to suppress a rising wave of nausea as the ground shook violently. He hadn't even known shadows could suffer from motion sickness...

Everyone's voices could have woken the dead, considering how noisy they were by the time he'd calmed down. Perhaps the room's occupants were sufficiently distracted? They wouldn't notice a little shadow creeping out the door, would they?

Making himself as small as he could, Vilithril cautiously ventured out from under the bed. He was met with a leather boot, which from his perspective was about three times his size. Surely they wouldn't notice something as tiny as he.

As fast as his shadow form would let him, he skittered across the floor, making sure he didn't hit anything or anyone on the way. Vilithril was in the hall, exhausted, in five seconds flat.

Stretching himself to the size and shape of his more tangible form, his shaded body shimmered briefly before it solidified. Vilithril was a drow once more, and as he leaned back against the wall, he felt quite relieved. Being a shadow could be so draining sometimes - you were lighter than a feather, but the light caused you pain. It was a special kind of suffering, much like the kind that wooden buildings felt when someone put a torch to them.

He could still hear arguments, screaming, and explosions coming from the inn room. This made him recall what he'd been doing there in the first place... and how much he'd failed.

Slipping a hand into his pocket, Vilithril withdrew the item that had enabled him to travel to Toril - a small, circular mirror, which reflected nothing but his own face. He snarled at his image, curling his other hand into a fist. "Gods-damned merchant... _ka usstan rin'ov ragar nindel olplyn 'sohna, dorn xunsin natha velve harl ukt rinteith..."_

"_Xsa'us sirn, xsa'us ligrr_,_ xsa ol jal..._" He sighed heavily, relaxing his grip on the mirror. Thinking briefly of throwing it against the opposite wall, he decided not to when he remembered its earlier refusal to break.

Shoving it back into his pocket, Vilithril scowled as he paced up and down the corridor. He'd been cheated - yes, the mirror had carried him to this place, but it hadn't been remotely the same. It was brighter, cleaner, and Taimra's twin hadn't been _anything_ like her. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he missed Wreven; because it was his home, and because it held the girl he'd been chasing after for months.

Along with that, there was a feeling of dread he couldn't quite shake. It was the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

He stayed with his thoughts for a few moments, until he was brought back to reality by the sound of a plate crashing to the floor. Vilithril's red eyes slowly widened as he looked up.

Staring back at him was a crowd of faces, all of them shocked, some more than others. Chastising himself for not being more careful, he racked his brain for ideas. _Come on. You did extensive research on Toril before you came. Don't let those ancient books you rescued from the pyre go to waste..._

"I'm- I'm with Eillistraea... Eilistraee," he blurted at last, throwing his hands into the air. "With the... the rebels." Swallowing hard, his eyes darted nervously around the room, searching for any indication that he was safe.

His heart immediately sped up as he saw the dwarf. Either he was like Sindre, or not at all - and the axe in his hand was a fairly good indicator that the two were alike. Vilithril gulped as he recalled the many times Sindre had threatened to dismember him.

"I think we should give him a chance."

Vilithril's eyes immediately locked with the ones of his savior. Like his, they were red, but they held a sort of fire. It was a tiefling girl who'd spoken - Maithin's counterpart, he thought. Maithin was willing to accept anyone, with the exception of Sindre, and even though they had blood from opposite planes, she and the tiefling looked oddly similar.

A red-haired sorceress spoke up next. "What? Neeshka, are you insane? He's a _dark elf!_"

"He can't be any worse than Bishop," said Neeshka. "Besides, didn't you hear him? He's with the good drow!"

The dwarf's low, rumbling voice almost made Vilithril jump. "Wouldn't rely on him to tell me the time of day," he grumbled. "Their kind are good at making up stories."

Neeshka folded her arms, her tail lashing about. "Oh, come _on!_ Even if the drow were involved in attacking Waterdeep, they were also involved in saving it!"

"Why, you're right," the blond-haired gnome interjected. "In fact, I remember a tale by one D. Scalesinger that was about precisely that event - he writes about a dark elf woman named Nasira! At least, I... I think that was her name..."

"See?" Neeshka smirked. "Not all of them are bad people."

"What makes _you_ the best judge of character all of a sudden?" retorted the redheaded sorceress.

Neeshka shrugged. "Absolutely nothing."

"Lass, if he murders us in our sleep, I'm blaming you," said the dwarf.

"You always blame me."

Vilithril walked forward, grateful for Maithin's - and apparently Neeshka's - ability to get people out of trouble. "Thank you," he said, suddenly remembering Maithin's penchant for glitter. "Do you like shiny things?" Searching around in his pockets, he pulled out a small silver amulet. "There, have something shiny. Thank you again."

As she admired it, turning it over in the light, he walked away, trying to ignore the wary looks of the others. He was thinking about how close a call that had been when he abruptly stopped.

_That was the necklace Taimra gave me, wasn't it?_

_Shit._

--

**Translations:**

_ka usstan rin'ov ragar nindel olplyn 'sohna, dorn xunsin natha velve harl ukt rinteith - _if I ever find that thief again, I'll drive a blade down his throat

_Xsa'us sirn, xsa'us ligrr_,_ xsa ol jal_ - Damned mirror, damned girl, damn it all


	7. Unraveling Mysteries

_**Casavir**_

In the minutes that had followed Taimra's fit of illness and mild hysteria, everyone had gone back to lounging about the inn, as if nothing had happened. The silver-haired woman and the duergar were bickering over the ethics of looting bandit camps, the ranger was looking quite bored, and Annalee was braiding chains of fake daisies in a suspiciously dark corner. No one seemed particularly worried at all.

Casavir felt decidedly out of place.

Looking about the room, he saw one person who looked all right to talk to - the cool-headed wizard, who was staring intently into a glass of wine. She did not look up when he seated himself at her table, but she did acknowledge him with a slight nod.

"Greetings, paladin," she said, tapping her fingers on the table. "We don't see too many of your kind around here - ahh, what an understatement..."

"I noticed that," he said, wondering if her drink was really so interesting. "My name is Casavir."

"Shisana," she replied, gently setting her wineglass on the table's far edge. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Like Casavir, Shisana seemed somehow different from the rest of the room - she was quiet, calm, and didn't seem to care one way or the other how things went. It was something of a relief, though her icy demeanor was slightly off-putting. He tentatively put a question forward. "Unfortunate what just happened with Taimra, don't you think?"

"Mm, I'm not terribly concerned." Her eyes were dark, like her streaming hair. She seemed utterly devoid of color, with the exception of her worn blue robes. "Taimra's taken care of herself before; I don't think this is any different."

"Perhaps not," he said, leaning on one hand. "It seems odd, though, that none of you would pay it any mind."

"Pfft. Where do you come from, Casavir?" She skimmed the surface of her wine with one finger, red against white. "Because there are people who _would_ care, though they are far and few..."

"Somewhere that is surely far away," he murmured, not even bothering to try and explain. "Where are _you_ from, Shisana?"

"I was actually born in Wreven," she answered, not paying attention to the red wine staining her sleeve. "Poor parents, poor education... had to claw and bite my way to where I am now, much like everyone else. I was once an instructor at the Wreven Academy for the Magically Gifted... taught there for six years."

"But not anymore?"

"No." Shisana's hand dropped to the table, and her black eyes stared right into his. "I was... let go. It wasn't even my fault - the students always rebelled, and that time it happened to be directed at _me._"

She was incensed now - clearly he'd hit some kind of sore spot. "I'm sorry," he offered, before realizing that it may have been better to hold his tongue.

"Sorry? _Ha!_" She was even more fearsome when she was angry. "You're not sorry, Casavir - and neither were they. They just wanted to see me _leave._"

This time, he stayed silent, not moving an inch in his chair. Shisana sighed, folding her arms on the table. "No, I'm sorry. That was... uncalled for."

"The fault is mine," he said. "I was the one who pressed the subject."

"I suppose I shouldn't be bitter about it," she muttered, "but that job meant a lot to me. I'd never have met some of the most important people in my life... and that includes these folks around here. Even Fandr."

"Fandr?"

She pointed to a distant corner of the room, where the elven sorcerer sat with several scraps of parchment, mumbling to himself. "Him. He's more irritating than an unwashed tunic, but it's amusing to watch him go off on a tangent - which happens a lot. And... some of his various statements make good points. Some of them."

"One more thing," Shisana said as he got up to leave, "I expect you'd know this already, but... if you ever need anything from me in the middle of the night, _knock first._"

The emphasis she put on the last two words was unsettling. Casavir decided to seek a less chilling companion.

He waved to Annalee as he walked by. She waved back with a bright smile, but seemed more interested in artificial daisies than general conversation.

"Maithin, yeh crazy bitch!" shouted the duergar, causing several pairs of eyes to flicker in his direction. "Yeh can't go 'round offering gold to every damn fool who passes by. Thas' not how it works in Wreven!"

"Well, I'm not _from_ Wreven," snapped the silver-haired woman, "and I'll be generous if I bloody well want to!"

"Generosity will get you killed, lass," mumbled the svirfneblin sitting on the floor.

"Haven't yeh been 'round here long enough to know the ins and outs?" The duergar's fists were shaking, and the axe strapped to his back seemed almost alive. "Just 'cause yeh're a damned aasimar--"

"Oxymoron," shrieked Fandr from his corner, pointing frantically at the duergar. "Aasimars are--"

"Shut up, Fandr," Shisana groaned, sending a freezing stream of snow at him. "We all _know_ what an aasimar is."

"Well, clearly, Sindre doesn't," Fandr sputtered, wiping the snow from his eyes and matted hair. "Because he said--"

"Shut it!" everyone chorused, including Annalee.

There was a long silence, which was broken when Maithin burst out laughing. Sindre growled, rolled his eyes, and went back to looking surly.

Casavir glanced around the room awkwardly, not sure how to react to what he'd just witnessed. It was like a typical argument at the Sunken Flagon, but with an entirely different subject.

He stood there a few moments before he noticed the ranger calling him over. Casavir was somewhat hesitant as he walked to the table - a ranger meant only one thing, and that was Bishop. Then again, everything was different in Wreven...

"Fish out of water, friend?" the ranger asked, raising his tankard.

"Er, yes, I am," Casavir said, taking a seat across from the ranger.

The ranger adopted a slightly puzzled expression, then broke into a smile. "Oh, no, that's not what I meant. Fish Out of Water - it's a drink here, you see."

"Oh. Er, no, thank you." If he really was Bishop's counterpart, he was a definite opposite.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Name's Elinn." He reached down to pat his panther affectionately on the head. "This is Nenaru. What brings you to the Flighty Sparrow today?"

"A lot of things." Casavir sighed. "But mostly Annalee."

"She's a nice kid," Elinn said. "I'm surprised they didn't take her into the church... but, ah, what's your story, paladin?"

"I was... traveling and got lost." He shifted uncomfortably, regretting telling even a half-lie.

"Should have asked for directions." Elinn reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a wood model of a signpost. "They used to have these everywhere here... they'd tell you where to go. Then some mages looking for firewood came and took them all down."

"And no one did anything?"

"Of course not. They were mages from some foreign city." He nodded gravely. "And you do not mess with foreign mages, especially when they want their firewood."

"Hm." Casavir thought he might actually like this reflection of Bishop - by this point, they would have been arguing about Hariele, or something of that nature. "Tell me - is everyone in Wreven so... dispassionate? Especially about people?"

"Uh, _yes,_" Elinn laughed. "Unless you're Taimra or Maithin - and they're not from Wreven, so they don't count. The one exception I've seen would be Annalee... or..." He trailed off, furrowing his brow, as if he were unsure of whether to say it.

"Or what?"

Elinn sighed heavily. "Vilithril." He spoke the name with a note of disgust in his otherwise smooth voice. "He's drow - and you ought to know what they're like. Vilithril has a lot of passion in him, but it's not the kind anyone wants, if you know what I mean."

"That sounds an awful lot like a man I know," Casavir nodded, "even if he isn't drow."

"And he's been shamelessly flirting with Taimra ever since we met. It's absolutely sickening. She doesn't return his advances - because she has someone back where she lives - but even if she doesn't notice, I do. That's why I'm glad he's been _gone_ for a while."

Casavir looked up. "Gone?"

"Yes, gone." The smile on Elinn's face looked almost wicked now. "He's been gone ever since he stopped by that merchant and picked something up - I don't know what it is, but I don't really care."

"How long ago was that?"

"About a day or two, I don't know."

Casavir's eyes widened. He had suddenly arrived in Wreven not long ago - was Vilithril's disappearance somehow connected?

"Excuse me," he said, getting up from the table and pacing about the room. He would need some time to think things through and attempt to piece together the truth once more.


	8. Shedding Light on Intentions

_**Neeshka**_

After several minutes of bartering, veiled threats, and outright begging, Neeshka had surrendered the silver necklace the drow had so carelessly given her. It was rude, she thought, to give something to someone as a gift and then demand to have it back so quickly. He had seemed desperate, though... it was hard not to feel bad for him. Considering how cheap it had looked, the necklace couldn't have been made of anything other than sentimental value and silver for him to want it back so badly.

He was leaning on the sill of the curtained window, cradling the amulet in his hands. She approached him, tilting one head slightly as she prepared a question.

"So, what's so special about that necklace, anyway?" She smiled, trying for a small joke. "Your girlfriend give it to you, or something?"

To Neeshka's surprise, the drow didn't laugh, or even chuckle. Instead, he stared at her for a few seconds, blinking slowly as he slipped the amulet inside his pocket. Whispering something in a language she didn't understand, he turned his back to her and said nothing more.

"Hey," she murmured, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, and she immediately retracted it. "Did I hit a sore spot? Sorry if I did, but..."

She heard a very faint mumble of "I don't want to talk about it."

Shifting uncomfortably, Neeshka pondered her next move. "You sure? Sometimes Hariele talks to me about things. She says it helps... most of the time, you know?"

"I don't care," he shrugged, turning to face her slightly. His red eyes were somewhat pink, unlike the faint orange of her own. "I told you, I... don't want to talk about it."

"You know, you sound a lot like those whiny teenagers running around Neverwinter," she snapped. "You always say 'I don't wanna talk about it,' but you just say that so people will feel sorry for you."

At this point, she thought she'd genuinely hurt him. She hadn't meant to lash out at him like that, but secretive and sad people got on her nerves. While debating whether he deserved an apology or not - after all, he hadn't done anything besides irritate her - she heard him sigh.

"You're right. Kind of." He gave a sort of rueful half-smile, twirling a strand of his long hair around one finger. "I _do_ wish I could talk about this. But I hardly know you, Neeshka, and it's a personal subject."

"Oh." Mulling it over for a second, Neeshka decided this was probably understandable. "Who do you usually talk to?"

"Someone back where I live." The smile on his face broadened as his eyes met hers. "You... remind me of her. Her name is Maithin, and she's an aasimar."

"An aasimar?" Neeshka's eyebrows immediately shot up. "Wait, so how do _I_ remind you of a slightly celestial being? You know our family trees are from opposite planes, right?"

"It's _not_ your heritage," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's the way you are, I suppose. Your kindness especially - Maithin was always kind. To everyone... no, _almost_ everyone."

"Well, uh, thanks." Neeshka scratched her head absently, wondering if it was necessarily a good thing to be called 'kind' in this context. Where did he live, anyway? Didn't drow usually inhabit the Underdark? It would be strange to see an aasimar down there. A few seconds passed before Neeshka remembered what she hadn't bothered to get from him. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Oh, it's Vilithril. I suppose I should have told you that earlier." He straightened into a less casual positon, tossing his hair over one shoulder. "So, anyhow, who was this Hariele person you mentioned earlier?"

Neeshka brightened immediately, bristling with information. "Hariele's my friend - sometimes we don't get along that great, but you know how friends are sometimes. She talks to me sometimes, but she usually talks to Shandra now. I don't know why, because I'm _way_ more understanding than that sword-toting farmgirl, right? Anyway, she's kind of leading this whole thing, and I think you should talk to her, but she'd not doing so well right... hey, what's wrong?"

Vilithril looked like he'd just been slapped. His eyes were wide, and she saw one of his hands dive into a pocket and grasp something silver - the necklace chain. "_Nau!_" he hissed, clenching his other hand into a fist. "_Nau, xsa ol! Vel'bol inbal usstan xunor?_"

"What's going on?" Neeshka barely had time to ask the question before he was striding towards the inn's door, muttering to himself all the way.

"I need to take a walk," he said at last, gripping the door handle. Left standing there, Neeshka only watched as he flung the door open - and screamed.

The door slammed shut as Vilithril stumbled backward, clutching his face with his hands. All heads were turned in his direction, and concerned whispers flew back and forth among the patrons. He eventually found his way to an empty spot on the floor, and practically fell in place, every inch of him quivering.

As she drew closer, Neeshka could hear the unmistakable sound of sobbing. Crouching in front of him, she pursed her lips. Drow didn't like the sunlight, but they didn't have such dramatic reactions to it, did they? Gently, she managed to pull away one of his hands, wincing slightly as she saw what had happened.

She only had a split second before he ducked his head under his arms, but the one eye she saw was red - more so than usual - and weepy. Tears were sliding down his face, and he was curled into a ball, probably to shut out as much of the light as possible.

"Shandra!"

Rising to her feet, Neeshka whirled around and saw Elanee, pointing directly at Vilithril. Shandra appeared from around the corner, and both of then exchanged shocked glances.

As they rushed across the common room, Neeshka could hear bits of their conversation.

"You don't think--"

"Maybe it wasn't--"

"Perhaps she was--"

"Who are you?" they chorused upon reaching the pair. The question was clearly intended for Vilithril, even though he was in no position to answer it.

"He's Vilithril, and he's _in pain,_" Neeshka replied, gesturing towards the drow in question.

They both seemed to ignore this, though Elanee did soften a little. Shandra showed no sympathy whatsoever - she nudged him with her boot, expression hard with determination and indignation. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"What do you want with him?" Neeshka demanded, hands settling on her hips.

"We _want_ to know who he is and just what his intentions are," Elanee snapped. "We have reason to believe--"

"Because he's a drow?" interrupted Neeshka, eyes flashing.

"Yes, because he's a drow, and because Hariele claimed to have seen a drow in her room who looks suspiciously like this one," Shandra sighed.

Exasperated, Neeshka folded her arms and snarled. "Hariele's been seeing a lot of things! You yourself said it was probably just a hallucination!"

"It wasn't," whispered a small voice.

Trying to stand on shaky legs, Vilithril brushed the tears from his eyes, swallowing hard. "It's all my fault."

--

**Translations:**

_nau - _no

_Nau, xsa ol! Vel'bol inbal usstan xunor? - _No, damn it! What have I done?


End file.
